Published by: Mary Nazarene Francisco
Date published: October 19, 2023
Time published: 3:24 PM
Category: Poetry
Subject: A serenade for a heavenly lady
From the murals of the Sistine chapel,
To the temples of Greece in white marble,
It seems to me that I've never caught sight,
Of anything that compares to your level.
It is a tragedy that your outline,
Came to be a hundred years late of Gogh,
for he would have, in deep shades of Green Thyme,
Immortalized your figure in art's tome.
You are a treachery of this foul plane,
A deception made of Magritte's palette,
A blissful blemish in hellish terrain,
The single shelter under heavenly terrain.
I bear witness to Monet's oil tulips,
Blossoming in the edges of your eyes,
Like islands in the sky above your lips,
Like Carthage, remnants of a slow demise.
You override a poet's need for rhyme,
To bury your memory in meters,
A coffin not of earthen wood design,
but of a dreamer's visions of grandeur.
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